


Undress

by BaySay



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Paint, Bottom Will Graham, Bratty Will Graham, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Hannibal is a painter, M/M, Rimming, Sassy Will Graham, Smut, Top Hannibal Lecter, and will gets painted all over, it's basically therapy but in gay sex, kinda ooc but i will write horny will graham if i wanna, slight dom/sub undertones?, sloppy blowjobs, very lowkey tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:15:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22806175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaySay/pseuds/BaySay
Summary: Hannibal is a painter, he hires a man to model for him. The man expects to be drawn, however, Hannibal begins to paint on his nude body instead...
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 120





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by EmeraldTrident's AU prompt on twitter (@spiserbrod).

Hannibal is dressed in a burgundy sweater over a slightly lighter coloured shirt and dark slacks.

"Will Graham?"- the older man's smile is open and charming when he opens the door, - "Please, come in."

Will smiles back with a warm, if somewhat awkward nod, and enters the house. The whole place is meticulously decorated - each little detail seems to have been carefully chosen out of thousands, if not handcrafted specifically to fit in this one spot.

How did Will end up here? Well, the story is not that common.

He came home rather discouraged one night after a long day of quarrels with Jack Crawford and an unsuccessful attempt at inviting Alana for a date. Not an unusual happening, but an unpleasant one nonetheless.  
He needed something new. Someplace to feel important, to be the centrepiece, to actually get listened to and seen, instead of merely tolerated. Yeah, he was done with the FBI academy's bullshit. It was time to change things up.

First, he looked through upcoming movie nights and theatre performances, concerts and art exhibitions - nothing caught his eye, but the last one gave him an idea. A little bit of art would not hurt anybody, right? Some even say it's quite therapeutic.  
So he went looking for a job as an art model. Nothing serious, just a one-time thing to get his mind off everything that's been going on in the past few weeks.

In less than half an hour and a half-full glass of whiskey later he was already on the web page with Hannibal's job request.

"Company/Name: Hannibal Lecter

Location: Baltimore, Maryland

Posted on: March 18th

Description: Male art model needed for nude life drawing. 5ft 9 to 5ft 11, fit. Prior modelling experience is favourable, though not required. For details please contact..."

It wasn't an art school thing like many other applications - and not a long ride away - so Will was rather comfortable with the base conditions. He also fit the few requirements there were, so there was no reason for him not to respond - and respond he did.

He wrote Hannibal an email saying that he would like to volunteer, providing the man still needed models, and got a response the next day - he was just leaving the lecture hall when his phone buzzed.

And, well, there he was, two days later, looking at a bronze moose statue on a mahogany pedestal at a complete stranger's house, about to get naked and pose. What a week.

"The studio is right over this way," - Hannibal was leading the way now, gracefully walking the corridor as if it were the red carpet, - "Do you have any other questions about the job?"

They have discussed everything over text and Will wouldn't be able to make up any more questions even if he wanted to.

"None"

"May I suggest a glass of Amarone Della Valpolicella?" - Hannibal asks while getting out the paints from an expensive-looking case and setting them next to him.

Will simply nods. The prospect of posing for the next god knows how long while sober would be too much, considering his constant tendency to overthink. His mind would inevitably drift to Alana, to Jack, to the whole teaching thing and to what his life is slowly becoming. He didn't need that right now. He really didn't.

Hannibal pours them some wine, bottle in hand drifting delicately above the glasses. The light shining through the carmine coloured liquid could be made into a masterpiece on its own given the proper attention of an artist, but Will leaves those thoughts to himself.

Hannibal only made a small sip of his wine before elevating the setup to perfection. Natural lighting combined with artificial, some reflective backdrop - Will was not sure about the purpose of all of it, but he felt he was in professional hands.

The wine felt bitter but left a pleasant aftertaste in Will's mouth. He is sure that this is the most expensive wine he ever tasted, and that is just judging by the bottle.

"I'm ready to start whenever you are", - Hannibal says while organising his brushes and figuring out the best colour combinations to go with Will's skin colour.

Their eyes meet and for a brief moment, and Will sees something dancing in between brownish red rings of Hannibal's irises - something exciting, or devilish, or both - and feels that whatever happens next will change the way he sees himself. Which, come to think of it, is not that strange, considering he is going to pose for an artist.

Hannibal's voice is velvety and pleasant when he speaks.  
"I would like you to undress now"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yup, here comes the smut. Enjoy!

Will knew he would have to do this. It was fine. It was alright.

His hands drift to his shirt, starting to unbutton it from the top and slowly making their way down. He tries not to think about it too much. After all, it was the job he had agreed to - with all the undressing and standing around naked and possibly agreeing to one day appear on a page of some art journal nobody reads. Nothing more than a static figure, consisting of carefully organised brushstrokes, but nothing less.

Now his clothes were carefully folded on a nearby sofa. The room was warm enough for Will not to shiver and he was grateful for that.

He was just going to walk over to a framed painting on the wall to take a closer look at it when Hannibal came closer. The man had a palette in his hand.

Will was about to ask Hannibal about the pose he should strike - you know, whether he was expecting Brad Pitt in the 1999 issue of the Rolling Stone or more of a classic look - when he came _too_ close.

Hannibal lifted the brush up to Will's neck, checking if he'd gotten the shade right, and then made his first brushstroke - a thin red line from under the man's collarbone and down, drifting slightly to the side.

This was not something Will had expected. There was nothing on the website to suggest he would get painted on, but, then again, there was nothing to suggest he would not be.

Will could stop it right here. Tell Hannibal he was uncomfortable with it, but, truth be told, he was enjoying it. He really was. It was all new and quite strange, sure, but whatever was happening to him and his body was very good at keeping his mind in the present - not an easy task, all things considered.

So he went with it.

Another line - a broader one now - was gliding along his side, starting somewhere near his hip bone and drifting up to his shoulder, down his arm, all the way to his fingertips.

Will felt himself shiver a little under the touch but tried to pay no attention to it. His body simply reacts in that way, that's all.

A thinner line, now beginning under his jaw, was slowly descending across his chest - tickling the sensitive spot around his nipple, coming tantalizingly close, but not quite there. Will felt a strong urge to lean into the feeling, to make Hannibal give him something more than thin, weightless lines...

To get touched, instead of teased.

If Hannibal were a mind reader, the whole situation would be so much easier, but - and Will could swear - for the brief moment their eyes met, he saw it. Hannibal knew. Hannibal knew how starved he was for affection, Hannibal knew how much he craved that touch, and they both knew, for that one, brief moment, that Will would have to work for everything he wanted to be done to him.

Will felt his breath hitch.

He tried not to think about it too much but found himself unable to.

The ticklish, coy brushstrokes all over his naked torso, Hannibal's eyes drifting to his - just seldom enough to count seconds waiting for the next one. Will is exposed, but somehow in a good way, and his fantasy takes him to one of the museums he never visited, but always saw in magazines. There he is David, with spotlights on him, all seventeen feet of marble cut ruthlessly, but with grace. There Will is the work of art even he could admire, and a brief thought, that feels as if it weren't even his, tells him his creator is proud of him. And that alone is already worth it.

But Hannibal seems to let Will's fantasy be his plan - and he is working, searching for what he desires in what he has, creating the missing pieces and discarding the unwanted ones.

His brush drifts around Will's collarbone, with some elaborate design the younger man can't yet make out appearing from under it.

An artist of Hannibal's level will not settle for anything less than perfect, and somehow Will knows that. Which, of course, doesn't mean he agrees.

Will is hungry, even feral in his needs - and he can't be sated by these teasing touches alone.

Hannibal looks at him now. Demanding something with no room for compromise, with no sound on his lips, but still an unmistakable request somewhere behind them...

And Will instinctively lifts up his chin, exposes his neck, and he doesn't even know why he does it, but the satisfied half-smile Hannibal gives him is already more praise than he could ever wish for. 

The older man paints a line right under his jaw, extra water from the brush slowly rolling down Will's neck. He feels an urge to wipe it off, to scratch, but Hannibal's design is more important now - how could he ruin it, when he is becoming something that much bigger?

Will feels the drops slowly making their way down his torso, onto his sides, tickling the sensitive skin, and Hannibal is only adding more water to that one brushstroke, as if his main goal were not the picture painted onto the man, but his feelings during. 

Will is breathing heavily now. He looks the older man in the eye as if looking for something - for more, or for mercy - but Hannibal smiles - such a simple and ruthless smile - and walks behind him to work with his back.

Will knows two things perfectly well: first, now he does not need to control his expressions as much as he did just now; second, his back is extremely sensitive.

With the first stroke, Hannibal can feel the way Will's muscles tremble under the brush, the way he shifts his weight, the way he exhales. Will's head falls forward, umber curls giving shade from all the lamps around him.

Hannibal uses it to his own advantage, beginning one line exactly under the man's hairline and going straight down his spine. 

Will rounds his back slightly, as if melting under the touch of his brush, or moulding to the shape Hannibal wishes to choose - he cannot tell which one it is, and, frankly, he couldn't care less now.

But Hannibal is no longer testing the waters - he knows exactly what he wants. He begins the brushstroke at Will's shoulder, goes tantalizingly slow as he descends down his side, switching to the inside of the man's thigh right under his buttock. He goes down with the brush, sinking to his knees at Will's feet. The man does not raise at once - his hand lingers on Will's thigh, while he paints over his calf.

Tiny drops of paint are rolling down Will's thigh. He is already breathless and no longer hiding it.

He feels Hannibal's breath finding it's way up his back as he rises, paintbrush following all his movements shortly after. Will shifts slightly back, craving his touch, feverish, needy, with his eyes closed and breathing ragged. Hannibal's breath is warm on his neck, first - right down his vertebra, then shifting slightly to the side, as if feeling for the best spot to bite.

God, Will wants him to bite.

This is it - all of Will is basically screaming at him - he is giving in, Will is going to get what he wants-

And as soon as this thought becomes the only thing Will's mind can focus on, Hannibal reaches up with his right hand, painting a thin line beginning somewhere between Will's neck and his shoulder, going down, down, and seemingly neverending.

Will loses his ability to stand straight, to talk straight, to think straight - the only thing on his mind is whether Hannibal's lips feel as good on his body as his hot breath at his ear now, or the coldish paint, warming gradually on his back.

He turns, impatient, facing Hannibal now, and knows nothing more and nothing less than how badly he wants to touch - to ruin that perfect outfit of his, to return the favour, to be the one messing up his perfect hair and to finally become the only thing the man can think of.

Their eyes meet and once again Will sees the same devilish sparks dance between the rings of his irises - only now he knows what the devil wants.

The paintbrush falls onto the rosin paper covered floor as soon as their lips clash, but neither hear the sound.

Will pulls Hannibal in by the fabric of his sweater, clinging to his lips as if they were the only thing his feverish mind could process now, and the older man finally lets him, seemingly melting into the touch as well, but continuing to control the situation, letting it unravel at his own pace.

Hannibal gives him what he so desperately wants - attention, touch - with his hands weightlessly caressing Will's sides, allowing gentle kisses to mingle with hot and messy ones. Hannibal is practically driving him mad and finds his actions to be perfectly justified - his goal is a masterpiece, after all, and an artist of his level will not settle for anything less than perfect.

Will is drunk, forget the wine. He is drunk and dizzy with everything Hannibal did to him in the past hour and is more than willing to give up control, to give it all up, please, just...

"Please," - the word rolls off the younger man's lips without his permission, and he doesn't seem to notice.

Hannibal does.

And Will is unlucky enough to see the smile that comes to his lips. Predatory. Ravenous. A smile that sends him forward to find balance in Hannibal when his own legs no longer hold him.

Hannibal knows better than to disturb Will's dazed state with words, but he needs to - at the very least to protect the status of a gentleman in his eyes.

"What would you like to happen now?" - he asks, raising Will's face by his chin.

"Fuck," - Will is already too far gone with arousal and the seemingly weightless, but overwhelming touch, - "I don't care anymore, just..."

Will's hands crawl under Hannibal's sweater, quickly raising it up to take it off, off, _off,_ there's too much clothing between them, and none of it is his.

"Don't ask me," - he meets Hannibal's eyes and licks his lips, - "So sick of questions"

Hannibal can only nod, before losing sight of Will for a short second.

He doesn't look for a bit longer, lavishing in what his beautiful boy gives him - pitter-patters of kisses down his chest and to his stomach, Will's hands following the movements of his mouth - but more frivolously - before anchoring, tugging at his belt.

Hannibal opens his eyes and looks down to meet Will's - all lust framed by messy curls, the icy blue irises highlighted by crimson red paint - and lets out the quietest _"Good boy"_ while petting his hair softly.

Will is somehow both focused and out of it when he unbuckles the man's belt, undoes his zipper - his hands drift up and down Hannibal's thigh, as if to steady himself.

He discards the man's slacks somewhere on the floor, not even bothering to look where he threw them, and nudges his inner thigh with his cheek. Submitting. Giving in.

Hannibal, on the other hand, is more than happy to guide - Will clearly needs it, and he is not the one to deny the boy such pleasure.

He guides Will's head, softly whispers words of encouragement, and sees the man lose himself completely.

Will licks a broad, wet line up his shaft, not even bothering to control his movements - he has Hannibal for it, after all. Presses his lips to the very tip, now drooling, raising his eyes to meet Hannibal's - asking for reassurance - and gets even more than he'd bargained for, with a soft pet to his curls and a gentle tug, urging to continue.

Will's full, swollen lips now open, letting the man in - first sloppy and wet, then slowly closing down, allowing himself to be guided by Hannibal's hand and taking in as much as he can without gagging. Will's jaw is lax, allowing the man to be the only thing controlling his movements.

He should feel used now but he doesn't - Hannibal's touch is too gentle for it, and his function is more supportive than controlling. Will is not going to admit it was the exact thing he so desperately needed, but the truth leaves no room for compromise.

He loses himself in the sensations - the fullness, the pleasant weight of Hannibal's cock on his tongue, the feeling on his lips when it enters the wet warmth of his mouth. His mind is blank and he doesn't need to think about anything - the only thing Will knows and wants to know is what's directly in front of him.

Hannibal's hand in his hair seems to be the best thing he's felt in years - steadying and guiding without pressure, allowing Will to go at his own pace, while also giving room for experimentation.

And it seems that the experimentation Will chooses throws Hannibal to the edge as much - if not more - as what he had done to Will before.

His beautiful model seems to be set on making him desperate and is very good at it - soon Hannibal begins rocking his hips towards Will's perfect little mouth, and the man is more than happy to take him all in, licking, swallowing, gagging around his cock.

Sooner than he would imagine, Hannibal is coming all over that pretty face of Will's with a moan that seems a bit too loud for somebody that collected. It is the flattery Will did not expect, but still very much enjoyed.

Hannibal was not the first man Will had the opportunity to see in such a delicate light, but surely one he would remember - nobody before him could make Will beg to be touched, if only in his own mind.

But Will doesn't need to beg now.

Hannibal is the one to sink down to his knees and kiss him, tongue exploring the other's mouth. They meet somewhere between the methodical and still cradling the illusion of control Hannibal and the ravenous and impatient Will.

Will drifts forward, hands wrapped around Hannibal's neck, his kisses becoming more and more demanding with the second. He lays Hannibal down onto his back and climbs on top of him, legs resting at the older man's sides.

Will _needs_ this. 

He clings to Hannibal's lips, chest instinctively shifting forward, craving touch and receiving it.

Now they both are covered in smudged red paint with Will lying on top of Hannibal - one knee between his legs and shifting, kissing, squirming, _craving_ touch.

Will's arousal was obvious from the very beginning and now begins to show even more. He has begun to rut against Hannibal's thigh absentmindedly, as if he himself does not notice it. His lips on the man's neck, hands tangled in his hair - Will needs the guidance, and Hannibal is once again more than happy to provide.

He rolls them over so that Will is under him and slowly makes his way down, kissing the man's stomach, caressing his thighs.

For a brief moment, Hannibal wishes he could draw Will just like that - parted lips, flushed cheeks and hands tangled in his own curls, covered in blood-red paint and breathing heavily. Oh, Hannibal wishes he could seize the moment and take it in properly, but his beautiful model is impatient and surely won't take "No" for an answer. 

Hannibal lifts his legs up by the knees, allowing for better access. His lips drift up Will's thighs, pitter-pattering kisses onto the inner side. He is compelled to leave marks, but does not wish to ruin such a masterpiece - once again, anything less than perfect will not suffice.

He licks a line up Will's inner thigh, testing, trying to make him even needier than he already is - kittenish licks directly on the ring of muscle, driving his beautiful boy completely insane.

Will is writhing under his touch now, desperate for more, and Hannibal needs to hold his legs down to allow the access he needs. Will's hands dart over to his hair, digging in, tugging, as Hannibal's tongue opens him up - slowly, lavishing in the moans and soft exhales coming from the younger man. He takes his time with Will, going at a tantalizingly slow pace and making sure he is constantly lubed up with his saliva. He combines wet kisses all over Will's hole with gentle thrusts, and, oh, his beautiful boy seems to lose track of time being opened up like that - exposed and slowly getting stripped of any other thoughts, except "Hannibal, Hannibal, _Hannibal_ ".

Very soon the older man's hand moves to his already throbbing cock, making Will dart up under the touch. But Hannibal's hand are firm and steady, that much Will already knows - if he's decided on something, there is nothing you can do to change his mind. 

He is stroking Will from both inside and outside now, reaching up with his free hand to caress the man's thigh, and for some reason - whether he was already too overstimulated or Hannibal just hit a sensitive spot - Will comes from it, his back forming a perfect arch on the floor of his studio.

Hannibal strokes him all the way through the aftershocks until his muscles go lax and a satisfying calm wins his body over.

He is even prettier now, Hannibal thinks, than when he'd just entered the room. Messy dark curls now damp with sweat, rosy cheeks, and almost translucent white drops of semen on the blood-red paint.

Will is lying on his back, eyes closed and breathing getting calmer by the second.

Hannibal could try and say something but feels it would not say more than their silence already does. So he simply lies there, propped up on his elbows so that he can see Will at all times, and tries to take as much of this in - so that he can draw him from memory later.

Will could very much be Sarpedon, taken away in all his glory, or Hyacinth mourned by his lover, or maybe even Icarus, falling into the depths of the ocean tragically, yet with grace.

"Hannibal?" - the soft sound of Will's voice is not louder than his own thoughts, but Hannibal still hears.

"Yes?"

"Are you like this with all your models?"

Hannibal laughs softly.

"This is the first one for me."

Will simply nods and stays silent for a long moment, before speaking again:

"How about a dinner then?"

Will can hear the man smile

"I would suggest cleaning you up first".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, was it worth the wait?:)
> 
> I wanted to end it there, but lowkey wanna add another one - all fluff and aftercare. Would you guys like that?
> 
> Want more? Just wanna chat? Leave suggestions in the comments or @ me on twitter (@DatAliceTho1)<3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All fluff. Takes place right after the previous chapter and is aaaaaallll aftercare:3

"I would suggest cleaning you up first".

The last thing Will wants to do right now is getting up and going somewhere. He is not sore - not at all what he would have expected after a "drawing from life" session - he is relaxed, still, lax. Tired, but in a good way.

Will's eyes are closed now, one hand under his head.

"I'm afraid you are overestimating my ability to walk straight after all of that, mister Lecter".

Hannibal smiles that mischievous smile of his and eyes Will's body up and down.

"It's "doctor", - his voice has no room for anger or dissatisfaction, somehow soft even while correcting his model for what he would have considered rude, had the phrase come from one of his colleagues or patients.

"Jesus Christ", - Will grunts, - "How do you find time for all of this?"

Hannibal simply smiles and continues:

"Would you rather I carry you to the bathroom?"

A sharp exhale, or, maybe, a soft moan escapes Will's lips.

His body and mind are overwhelmed as it is, and being carried in another man's arms would be too much. At least right now.

So he forces himself to get up, shifting his weight so that he can sit straight.

"You see, _doctor_ ", - he opens his eyes to find Hannibal's silhouette in the brightly lit studio, - "If you carry me, our journey will be cut short very soon".

Hannibal's upper lip drifts up for a short moment, showing off the white canines. 

"By you or by me?"

Will lets his head fall back and rolls his neck from shoulder to shoulder, the soft curls reflecting the studio light in dark amber.

"Whoever gives in first".

Hannibal gets up, offering his hand to the younger man and Will cannot refuse - he stands up, grabbing Hannibal's forearm to find balance

Their eyes meet and the man says something, and Will hears him, hears him perfectly well, but is unable to process it.

The words jump around in his head like a tennis ball, or like waves of sound in a theatre, getting louder with each second.

"Will?" - Hannibal repeats softly, finding the younger man's eyes with his, - "Let me take care of you". 

And he takes Will's hand in his, gently caressing his fingers, and leads them to the bathroom.

Will comes undone - has been coming undone - slowly, piece by piece, over the course of this evening, as if Hannibal's only purpose was to strip the younger man of his problems, of his constant need to satisfy, of what had been leeching off his energy for so long. As if in becoming the masterpiece Hannibal was making of him he was only becoming himself - nothing more and nothing less.

They enter the bathroom before those thoughts settle in too deep.

The older man leaves Will for a moment to start the water going - the bathtub is in the middle of the room, so when Hannibal bends over to reach and feel the water, Will gets a nice view of his body.

Lean legs, the perfect curve of his back, as if bent that gracefully on purpose, leading down to perfectly round buttocks...

Hannibal catches his gaze now, a coy smile on his lips.

"I do not mean to assume", - he makes his way to Will slowly, - "But it seems to me that you were, how do I put it..." - his hand is on Will's cheek now, caressing it gently, - "Checking me out" just now".

Will lifts his face instinctively, gaze drifting all over Hannibal's face - from his eyes to his lips, following the slight curve they make at the sides.

"Difficult to avoid", - Will rests his hand on Hannibal's chest, hiding his eyes now.

But the older man raises his face by the chin, standing close now - very close, close enough to kiss - and Will cannot find it in himself to disobey now.

"You're a bratty one, aren't you?" - Hannibal smiles that wicked smile of his, eyes focused on Will's.

" _You_ are the one who started it, doctor".

And with this Will turns away - smiling, _victorious_ \- and slowly makes his way to the shower.

Hannibal is the one to rinse the man's body, to gently rub all the excess paint off of it, before turning the water off - the bathtub is ready for him.

Will's movements are graceful, like those of a cougar stalking his prey, and, without noticing it, Hannibal tries to follow him as carefully as he can - landing his foot where Will's was - as if he were the hunter, about to strike said cougar down the way only the best hunters do - with awe and with respect.

Hannibal offers the man his hand for balance as Will steps over the ledge of the tub.

"Aren't you going to join me?" - and, oh, how can Hannibal say "no" to this?

"Would you like me to?" - how careful can one be in choosing which boundaries are to be overstepped, and which are not?

But Will, beautiful, beautiful Will doesn't have time for etiquette and somehow that is insanely appealing to Hannibal. Intoxicating even.

"Get in", - his voice is low and raspy and, by god, Hannibal is so mesmerized by him that denying him his demand is not an option.

He gets in and Will leans back to lie on top of him on his back. Will should probably notice the temperature of the water or the lighting or the bathroom decor, but that really, really does not matter now.

\- "So", - he starts, speaks softly, - "I don't know anything about you except that you fuck like a god and your take on art is rather questionable".

\- "You haven't seen all of it", - Hannibal chuckles.

\- "Are we talking sex or art here? Cause I'm not too good with the latter".

Hannibal's hands are on his torso - resting, caressing Will's belly.

\- "But you are".

Will laughs, covering Hannibal's hands with his.

\- "I think you might be biased on that matter, doctor".

They talk and they laugh until the water starts to go cold. Hannibal offers his model a pyjama set, which Will politely declines.

\- "I've been naked in this house more than I've been clothed", - he says, climbing into bed by Hannibal's side, - "You don't seem to mind".

Hannibal smiles when the man snuggles around him, throwing his thigh onto the older man's leg.

\- "You are very observant".

The man simply nods, mumbling something which Hannibal interprets as "good night".

\- "Good night, Will".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey-hey! Took me a good bit longer to find the time to write this one, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway:3  
> As always, comments are really appreciated! I live off yall's attention and love hearing your suggestions/thoughts/incoherent screams<3


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